Picking up the Slack
by iknowhowmystoryends
Summary: Garth had never been the aggressive type. He only killed that tooth fairy because it was hurting kids. As much as Garth hated hurting people he hated people getting hurt more. Or something. He'd never been the eloquent type, either.


Garth had never been the aggressive type.

He only killed that tooth fairy because it was hurting kids. As much as Garth hated hurting people he hated people getting hurt more.

Or something. He'd never been the eloquent type, either.

He tried to go back to his dentist practice after he stabbed the fairy and watched it explode into thousands of tiny teeth.

Garth went into his office, charmed a sullen preteen with braces into smiling, saw her teeth, and knew that he couldn't go back to the way things were.

His special lady Lizzie believed him when he told her what he'd seen. That was one of the reasons she was special.

"Anyone else, I'd think they were nuts, Garth," she told him. "But you're the sanest person I know and you wouldn't lie to me."

Garth was lucky to have her, he knew. A cardiac surgeon deserved better than a dentist-turned-ghost hunter. Lizzie told him he was being ridiculous whenever he told her that, though.

Garth met Bobby Singer on accident.

He was walking up to the police officer on the unexplainable crime scene when he saw an older man in a suit flash a badge.

"Special Agent Moore," Garth heard the older man say.

Garth had to think fast. Neither of his two hunts had had any real complications.

"They called out the feds for this?" he said, trying to chuckle. His voice came out squeaky. "Must have been some crossed wires somewhere. I'm from the…"

He searched in desperation for another authority.

"Department of Agriculture," Garth finished. "My bosses said that there might be something weird in the crops that's making people murder each other."

Garth beamed.

Special Agent Moore sighed.

The police officer blinked and shrugged.

Special Agent Moore took Garth out to lunch, which Garth thought was very nice of him.

"You a hunter?" Special Agent Moore asked.

Garth swallowed a bite of his sandwich. "What do you mean?"

"I mean are you one of us. Hunting the kind of things that most people don't even know about."

"Like tooth fairies and ghosts?" Garth clarified.

Special Agent Moore sighed. "Mostly the ghosts part, but yeah. I'm Bobby Singer and I want to know how the hell you're still alive."

Garth was a little insulted. "I take good care of my body. I might have a genetic predisposition towards high cholesterol, but that's hardly-"

Bobby Singer sighed. He seemed to do that a lot around Garth.

The case ended with a burning corn field and a few vaporized ghosts.

"You're not half bad, actually," Bobby told Garth. He handed Garth a business card. "Call me if you need help on a hunt. Even if I'm not around, I can send someone else out or tell you what to do about it. The boys are always up for driving for a hunt."

"You have kids?" Garth asked, excited. He loved kids. He was good with them. It was part of why he'd become a dentist.

Bobby smiled. "They're my boys, yeah. Sam and Dean Winchester."

Garth was very excited about this insight into Bobby Singer's life.

The world started ending not too long after that.

Garth called Bobby a lot. At first it was because Garth had no idea how to deal with some of this stuff- a seven foot fire-breathing snake in the Denver Butterfly Pavilion was not something dentistry school had prepared him for- but Garth started making excuses to call after a few months. Bobby sounded sad, sometimes.

Garth heard from another hunter somewhere in Nebraska that it was because Bobby had been paralyzed.

"Did it saving those no-good Winchesters," the hunter said bitterly.

Garth was not an angry person but his voice went squeaky with indignation. "Don't you say that about Bobby's kids!"

The hunter looked at him weird but Garth swept out of the bar, leaving his lemonade behind.

Garth had to do an extra-long meditation that night.

Garth did his best. There was always another thing to hunt, another person to save, another disaster to avert, but he did his best and that was enough to make him feel better.

He saw Lizzie less and less, but he made sure to call her every night.

"Ellie and Max miss you," she told him. "I miss you."

"I miss you too," Garth told her, and he drifted off to sleep with the sound of Lizzie's breathing in his ear.

There wasn't really a hunter's Facebook, which made Garth sad because that would have been cool, but word got around about things anyway. Garth found his way to the bars where other hunters congregated and swapped stories with his comrades.

The stories they told led to Garth doing more yoga before bed.

They were tales of angels and demons and a secret, underground war, of Sixty-Six Seals and Death and Lucifer and the Winchesters.

Everything seemed to come back to the Winchesters.

Garth was always happy about that, because he knew Bobby was very proud of his sons.

The world went back to normal after about half a year. Garth asked Bobby why and the hunter didn't answer- it almost sounded like he was crying- and Garth switched gears quickly.

He decided not to question the change. He took a week off to spend time with Lizzie and the kids. Ellie was just three years old and Garth loved how he could make her giggle while Lizzie read to Max on the couch.

It was a nice break. It helped him breathe out all the negative feelings that collected in his lungs and find his peace again. His Civil War reenactment was even more fun than usual.

Then the monsters started to appear in large numbers again, so Garth kissed Lizzie goodbye, told the kids he'd be back soon, and hit the road again.

The hunters Garth ran into told stories about packs of werewolves and nests of vampires, about nagas and demons and vengeful ghosts, and, increasingly, stories about Sam Winchester.

Garth didn't like those stories. He wondered if maybe Sam was the reason Bobby seemed sad even though he could walk again.

Garth started hearing stories about Dean Winchester after about a year. The Winchesters were back, like a boy band everyone knew would always get back together, and they were raising Hell.

Not literally. That would be bad. They were… suppressing Hell?

Garth decided he was not articulate enough to deal with this situation and went back to tracking a cursed object that just got sold on eBay.

Garth got to meet Dean. He was very excited, but Dean didn't seem very happy to see him.

Dean didn't seem very happy in general.

Anyone who didn't like Marmaduke wasn't a very happy person, in Garth's opinion.

Sam seemed happy with Becky, but Dean was sure something wasn't right, so Garth followed his lead.

It turned out to be a crossroads demon.

Garth didn't like Crowley because he didn't like bullies.

He liked hugs, though, and Dean seemed like he needed one.

Garth was smiling as he drove away.

Bobby had done a great job raising his kids.

It was concerning to Garth how difficult Dean and Sam found it to get drunk. Garth wanted to be like them- tough, cool, macho, badass.

Garth chugged a beer and regretted it immediately. He would stick to meditation. Maybe the Winchesters would be happier if they tried it. Maybe they didn't know alcohol was bad for you.

The Winchesters saved Garth's life and Garth was especially happy to see Lizzie two days later.

Garth didn't see the Winchesters for a year.

Garth heard that Bobby had died in a bar in Oregon. His calls rang out unanswered. Garth drank a whole beer and sobbed on his call to Lizzie.

The Winchesters disappeared. Nobody knew how much they had done until they were gone and the deaths started piling up.

Garth started handing out business cards.

Someone had to pick up the slack with Bobby and his boys gone. Garth would do it to honor their memories.

Garth carried his phones at all times. They rang at all times of the day and night.

"You sound tired, hon," Lizzie told him.

"I am." Garth moved into his next tai chi pose. "There's so much to do."

"Make sure you're taking care of yourself," Lizzie said.

His federal agent phone went off in the midst of his meditation.

"Federal Agent Moore," Garth said in his deepest voice. "Yeah, she's one of my agents."

The next time Garth saw Dean and Sam, Dean had the look in his eyes that Garth usually saw in the eyes of the veterans he goes to group therapy with.

Dean was snappish and, Garth thought privately, kind of being a dick.

Dean had been in a very bad place for a long time. Garth would be nice to him, even if Dean stole Bobby's hat, which was important to Garth.

When Dean told Garth he wasn't allowed to talk like Bobby, though, Garth snapped a little.

"Someone had to pick up the slack," Garth told Dean, and Garth hoped his words sunk in.

Garth was allowed to miss Bobby too, even if he wasn't Bobby's kid like Sam and Dean were.

They figured out that the penny was the cursed object.

Dean pointed a gun at his brother and said horrible things.

Garth felt terrible when he decked Dean- poor guy had been through enough- but he couldn't let Dean hurt Sam.

Garth was relieved but not surprised when he caught the penny and felt nothing.

He'd been feeling a little negative, lately, but his meditation routine seemed to be keeping his chakras balanced.

Dean was smiling as Garth drove away, Bobby's hat back where it belonged.

Garth was happy because Dean was happy.

It was his job to do Bobby's old job, and it made Garth feel full of positive energy to know that Bobby's kids were okay with that now.

Picking up the slack, Garth thought, and he whistled as he headed towards Lizzie and the kids and home.

Bobby would sigh, probably, but Garth thought Bobby would smile while doing so.


End file.
